runaway
by ulstergirl
Summary: Nancy's just begun her sophomore year at River Heights High and she's itching for a mystery, when one finds her.
1. runaway

**Set in a loose AU interpretation of the Files universe, during the beginning of Nancy's sophomore year at River Heights High, in the mid-1980s.**

--

Nancy Drew frowned at herself in the mirror, turning to look at her profile. Late August in River Heights, and the sun was already beating down outside. The mouth-watering scent of French toast drifted up the stairs and into Nancy's room, but it didn't help her mood.

From the moment Bess had told her that Tamara had told Sam who had told Nikki who had mentioned to Bess that Nancy was a shoo-in for head cheerleader, even as a sophomore, Nancy had been planning how to gracefully turn it down. Needlessly, of course, now, since Shanna Stevens had been named head cheerleader the day before.

It wasn't like she even had the time, Nancy lectured herself sternly, smoothing the fitted white top over her stomach with her palm, swiveling her hips experimentally so that her skirt flipped up, briefly revealing her upper thighs. She barely had time to go to cheerleading practice, much less to serve as head cheerleader. She didn't even think the first-string quarterback was all that cute.

Nancy sighed and rolled her eyes, digging in her jewelry box for a coordinating ribbon. She hadn't had any mysteries to investigate since a week before school started, and the boredom was weighing on her. The first-day-of-school butterflies had dispersed.

And, to top it off, instead of spending the morning going over out-of-state newspapers for possible leads, she was going to the fundraising car wash.

In her skimpy cheerleading uniform.

At least Don would enjoy it, she sighed to herself, tying the ribbon securely around her ponytail and double-knotting her sparkling-white shoes before bounding down the stairs.

"Nan! Ready for the car wash?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Nancy mumbled, curling her lip as she accepted a plate of piping-hot French toast. "Has Bess called?"

"She'll be five minutes late," Hannah called from the kitchen, appearing with a bowl of cinnamon sugar.

Twenty minutes later, Bess and Nancy were standing at the edge of the parking lot, hands on their hips, watching the other girls throw sponges and splash suds on each other. Nancy heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because we want new uniforms?"

"No, this," Nancy groaned, sweeping her arm to indicate the entire string of cars already lined up in the high school parking lot. "Just so guys can stare at us. Which is gross."

"You've been listening to George again," Bess said disapprovingly. She bumped Nancy's shoulder. "Hey, you can ask the drivers if they need any help with any mysteries."

"Yeah, because last time that worked out so well," Nancy groused, but followed Bess across the parking lot. The last time she'd tried it, one guy had said something about a mystery in his pants that had made Bess giggle helplessly for fifteen minutes after.

"Oooh, man, I hope we get to wash that."

Nancy turned her gaze from the football field, where the coach was reaming out the practicing team, to a black Ferrari GTS, parked across the street from the high school. Nancy's heart started beating a little faster and she peered across, wondering if she'd see someone possibly stalking the team with binoculars or a high-speed camera, but as far as she could tell, the car was empty. She sighed, making a mental note to keep an eye on it, in case someone interesting retrieved it, and dragged her feet as they headed over to the rest of the squad.

Soap bubbles. Fifteen cars later, Nancy's scalp was prickling from the heat, her hairline was damp with sweat, and her fingers were wrinkled as raisins. She'd never been able to work out exactly why the adults alternately looked uncomfortable or knowing when their coach suggested car washes, arguing that they always brought a big turnout, or why so many middle-aged guys drove through, offering big tips for a good scrub. Bess ate up the attention; George would probably be trying to sneak onto the football field, if she were here.

Even over the radio station playing through the boombox, the sound of the marching band practicing carried through from the football field, and Nancy glanced over her shoulder, watching the players stream across the lot, heads bowed, in ratty sweatpants and sweat-soaked threadbare t-shirts. A few wandered over to their girlfriends, begging for a douse in the frigid stream from the water hose. Nancy noticed the quarterback, Sam Cartwright, angrily gesturing at one of his teammates as they went to their cars.

"Hey, babe!"

Nancy repressed the instinctual shiver before she turned to see Don, a patently fake smile plastered over her face, but he never noticed; he never seemed to notice, ever, that she hated being called "babe." "Hey honey," she sang back, bumping her hip against his as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "No," she shrugged away, as he tried to plant a kiss on her temple. "I'm gonna have to shower for hours to get the smell of car-wash off me."

"It's cool. Want to catch a movie later?"

The football players had vanished into their cars or their parents' cars; another car pulled up and Bess tugged at Nancy's arm, her own bubbly smile already in place. "Sure, call me later," she told Don, blowing him a kiss, before turning to the next car.

"All right, babe!"

Nancy wrinkled her nose and Bess glanced at her. "Oh, come on. I think it's cute."

"'Babe'?" Nancy repeated witheringly.

"You _have_ to stop listening to George," Bess sighed.

Nancy bent over to pick up a sud-soaked sponge and felt a gaze on her, straightening and turning just in time to see a brown-haired guy slowly making his way across the parking lot from the field, jerking his head back forward. His classic jaw, muscular arms and powerful frame made her heart flutter unusually in her chest, but she couldn't risk a glance over to where Don had been standing.

So it was him, she thought, narrowing her eyes, angling so she could keep the mystery guy in her sights through the reflection of the car's window. He cast another gaze at her, a little more subtly, her heart traitorously skipping a beat in answer, but he headed across the street. To the Ferrari.

Nancy thoughtfully scrubbed at a brake light cover, chewing her lip, and grabbed Christy as she sprayed the water hose over the car. "Do you know who's driving that Ferrari?"

Christy shrugged. "Shanna probably does."

_Of course,_ Nancy sighed. _Of course._

Shanna gave Nancy a tight, sanctimonious smile when Nancy asked her. "You mean you don't know?" she sing-songed. "The great Nancy Drew doesn't know?"

"Who is he, Shanna," Nancy repeated patiently.

Shanna cut her eyes. "Ned Nickerson," she said flatly, and flounced away, leaving Nancy staring after her.

Ned Nickerson. Great.

Ned Nickerson, whose father was widely known to have ties to the mob. Who had been the star quarterback at Mapleton, at least until most of the team had turned against him. If his father was trying to get him far enough away to outrun the scandal, a town over wasn't going to do the trick.

Nancy wearily dunked the sponge again and headed for the next car in line, ignoring the catcalls, shaking her head as Bess giggled when the driver suggested she climb up on the hood to get a particularly troublesome spot on the windshield.

She wanted to see him again. Which wouldn't be too hard, since she was a cheerleader and he was probably on the team. Just like Don. Except she had a feeling Don warmed the bench a lot more often than Ned.

And except that Nancy's father was a lawyer and Ned's father was, as far as the entire town was concerned, tried and convicted as a mobbed-up insurance salesman for the Chicago families.

After the car wash, Bess and Nancy were sitting on the curb, waiting for Bess's parents, when Bess bumped her shoulder against Nancy's. "Hey. What's wrong? Want me to come over and do your makeup for tonight?"

"Oh... sure," Nancy said, forcing herself back to the present. She could still almost _feel_ Ned's gaze on her. That had never happened before.

"What are you guys gonna go see?"

"Like it matters. I won't be watching it; I'll be too busy trying to keep his hands off me," Nancy sighed.

"Oh, come on, like you don't want it."

Nancy shot a mock disgusted look at Bess. "Yeah, buttery fingers are so sexy," she swooned.

Bess threw her head back and laughed, and as she turned to Nancy again, her eyes were wide. Nancy had just opened her mouth to ask why when she saw the Ferrari pull up, inches from her sneakers. The window rolled down.

For the first time, Nancy's eyes met Ned's, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. For a long moment, neither did he, and then Nancy was uncomfortably aware that Bess was sitting right next to her, probably seconds away from demanding an explanation, or at least an introduction.

"Nancy Drew?"

Nancy nodded, pushing herself to her feet and smoothing her skirt at the back. "That's right."

"I was going to offer you a ride home..." He glanced over at Bess, whose eyes were still round as saucers.

Nancy glanced over at Bess too, and to her horror found herself saying, "Dad doesn't really like me to ride with..."

"Strangers?" Ned finished, with an uncertain smile.

Bess's fingers brushed Nancy's arm. "It's just a few blocks," she said, with a smile. "I'm sure you'll be okay. Call me when you get home?"

"Bess..." Nancy half-moaned in protest.

"Dad's right there," Bess pointed out cheerfully. "Really. Just don't forget to call me." Her eyes had a wicked gleam in them as she walked over to her father's car.

Nancy bit the inside of her lip, very sure that she should give Ned a cheerful little wave and follow Bess to her father's car. But that flutter in her stomach wouldn't let her. There was something there, something more than the undeniable spark of their gaze.

And as soon as she climbed into his car, the black leather seat still warm to the touch, and closed the door, before he even put it in gear, he turned to her.

"Listen, I know you don't know me, at all, or maybe you've heard... but, I need your help."

With the tiny percentage of her brain that was still anywhere near objective, she was amazed at how hard it was to say anything coherent while his hand was on her arm.

"Tell me all about it," she said.


	2. proving a negative

"Is there anywhere we can go around here that we'd be alone?"

Nancy glanced at Ned's profile, glad he wasn't looking at her; a faint blush was prickling in her cheeks, she could feel it. "I think there's a place to park up at Flanders Field; at least, that's what I've heard. My boyfriend can't really drive alone yet." Not that that hadn't stopped him from suggesting it.

Ned was quiet for a minute. "We might be alone there, but I think we'd get noticed."

Nancy glanced around at the lush interior of the Ferrari and made a face. "Yeah. Sorry. There's the old railroad station near the river?"

"Long as you think we won't get mugged."

"Don't tell me you're afraid."

"As much shit as I've had to put up with in this car..."

Ned trailed off, negotiating a turn, and Nancy's head whipped toward him in shock. It wasn't that she hadn't heard the word before. She just wasn't that used to hearing it from people she'd just met.

"If you're so worried, I bet you probably know somewhere in Mapleton."

He glanced over at her, amused. "First it's 'Daddy won't let me ride with strangers,' and now it's 'Let's go to Mapleton'?"

An echo of her bad mood came back. "If you're going to be like that, you can take the next right and we'll be back at my house in about a mile."

Ned shook his head. "I'm sorry. I am sorry. I guess I'm a little on edge."

"I am too." Nancy suddenly remembered that Don was expecting her for their date, and her hand tightened on her purse strap. "I can't be out too late."

"Curfew?" His voice wasn't quite so sharp as it had been, and she let it pass.

"Date."

He nodded. "Yeah. Of course. Cartwright?"

"The quarterback?" Nancy let out a sharp chuckle. "No, Shanna has him all sewn up. I'm with Don Cameron."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Huh."

"What, you think he's not good enough for me?"

"Apparently you do."

Nancy whipped around to glare at him again, but he didn't take the bait; he was following the river road by the tracks.

She didn't think Don wasn't good enough for her. How dare he even say that.

She didn't.

"Can we start over?"

Nancy's cheeks were burning in the fading light. "Couldn't be any worse."

He shifted into a lower gear and stuck out his hand, glancing over to lock his gaze with her for a second. "Ned Nickerson."

It wasn't like she didn't already know, but her heart sank a little anyway on hearing his name. "Nancy Drew," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "And you didn't want to go ahead and start on whatever you need my help with? Do you need your hands free for visual aids?"

Ned pulled into the old train station's gravel parking lot. The side of the building was spray painted, but with the usual juvenilia; Mark loved Chrissy and Brian loved Candace, surrounded by sloppy five-pointed stars and uneven hearts. Ned parked facing the lot's exit and the river road, and the Muskoka drifted lazily by, the wind-carved ripples in its surface catching pools of brilliant orange and blinding yellow-white. Everything else was gloom in comparison, their skin gone ashen and grey. But his eyes glimmered, and again she felt the same spark simmering when her gaze met his.

_He's the son of a mobster._

_You don't know that._

Her father had often told her not to judge by appearances or gossip, but this wasn't either of those, really. Even so, she couldn't quite explain it; she _wanted_ to believe whatever he was about to tell her, wanted to believe that he really was a good person.

Even though they were in a Ferrari. And he had cursed.

And, she had to admit, she kind of wanted to know what it would feel like, if he did make a move on her. He was so confident, but it had an aggressive, almost hyper-defensive edge. Not that she'd expect anything less, if even half the rumors were true.

Ned unfastened his seatbelt and Nancy raised her eyebrows as he slid out of the car. She fumbled with her own belt as he came around to her side and opened her door, and wordlessly she followed him to a weatherbeaten bench still standing by the cracked glass at the front of the station house. He sat easily beside her, bent forward, elbows on his upper thighs and his hands clasped. Nancy smoothed her skirt under her and straightened the pleats over her thighs. She knew she should have changed after the car wash, but she'd thought they were going straight home; the damp patches in her uniform were cooling by the second, in the hush of the sunset.

"I need you to help me clear my father."

When he showed absolutely no inclination to turn his face toward hers, Nancy let her gaze rest on his face. "Of what exactly," she said softly.

Ned snorted. "What do you think."

"I think it's easier if you tell me. I'm not here to judge you."

Ned dropped his chin. "Everyone else has," he muttered.

She let him alone for a while, then patted his shoulder. "It's okay."

Ned shook his head, and she let her hand drop. His shoulder was warm through his shirt. "Coach made me first-string quarterback today. It's all going to happen again. All over again."

Nancy brought one leg up and hugged her knee to her chest, the bench squeaking in protest. Her damp socks were clinging to her ankles. If she caught a cold for this, Hannah would never stop saying she'd told her so. "Why don't you start at the beginning, Ned."

He glanced over at her, the last of the dying light reflected in his eyes, and saw her shivering. "God, I'm sorry. Let me get you my jacket."

"You don't..." Nancy began, but he was gone, leaving her alone on the bench.

She wasn't sure exactly what George would say about this. She knew what George never stopped saying about Don, but when Ned came back, his face hard as he looked down at the Mapleton letterman's jacket in his hands before draping it over her shoulders, all George's feminist disdain over being treated like a weak, soft girl dissipated. Maybe because Don, in the same situation, would be trying to find some excuse to touch her, and Ned only looked angry.

"They started keying my car after practice. All of them. Even the ones I was friends with before."

Ned steepled his fingers and Nancy slid her arms into the jacket's leather sleeves, craning her neck to see his car in the fast-receding light. The paint still looked uniformly pristine.

Ned was looking at her when she glanced back at him. "Oh, Dad got it buffed out. Every time."

"Distributor cap? Sugar in the tank?"

Ned nodded, appreciation lighting in his eyes. She shrugged and didn't bother explaining that her father's favorite activity, on the rare free weekend afternoon, was watching old detective movies with her and explaining exactly what gats and powders and dames were. She'd been behind the wheel all of two minutes in her life but she was already planning to check for slashed tires every time she approached her car. Her father provoked that kind of ire in people, and she had no doubt she'd follow in his footsteps.

"Distributor cap, yeah. The gas cap locks, though."

Nancy pulled the coat a little closer around her. "Your dad had to know that that car's... super conspicuous. So that's what you wanted?"

Ned snorted again. "You know what I really wanted? A Corvette. Red. But now, what I really want is the most beat-up rusted-out piece of shit possible. Like everyone else. I just want to be like everyone else."

_But you're not._ He really wasn't. He wasn't like anyone she'd ever met, and the closest comparisons failed; he had an air about him that she'd only seen her father carry, some of her father's more successful and more handsome friends, the ones who smoked cigars and laughed over their highballs at the poker table. Seeing it in someone so close to her own age frightened her, for a reason she couldn't quite put in words.

And Don... was very much like everyone else.

She didn't want Ned to be that way, but Ned would never be that way, even if he didn't have the Ferrari or the letter jacket or the chiseled, clean-shaven jaw. Even if Nancy took her cheerleading uniform off, she would still be her father's daughter, still wouldn't be able to keep herself from investigating or poking her nose in where other people definitely didn't want it.

And he'd still be his father's son.

"Start at the beginning."

The moon hadn't yet risen, and the sole aged streetlight cast a pale glow over his features, the indistinct globe's reflection caught in the slow swell and push of the river below. "I don't want to prejudice you against him."

"Do you want me to find out the truth, or do you want me to prove that your father is clean in all this?" She shrugged in the direction of the car behind them. "Despite the evidence."

He could only hold her gaze for a second before it dropped, but she saw his resignation there. She was pretty sure her father would call it circumstantial but damning. A Ferrari, especially a new one, didn't jive with the image of a respectable insurance salesman.

"Because I can do my best to find out the truth, but that's not the same as telling you what you want to hear."

"He's a good person, Nancy. He is. He really is. Maybe he got caught up in something, but he's not like this at heart. He... he always made time for me. Taught me to ride my bike, how to play catch. He comes to all my games."

She knew what her father would say—

And that didn't matter; it only mattered what she would say, and the rote answer was meaningless, and the honest answer was too much. Loving his son didn't mean he wasn't what everyone thought he was.

But that didn't matter, because that wasn't what he wanted to hear. Maybe later, but not tonight.

Instead, Nancy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tilted her head against one. "It's been hard, hasn't it."

He didn't say anything. "I want you to find out the truth," he finally murmured. "Because the truth is that he's a good person and everyone has judged him for this, and... they used to love me. Before that damn article in the _Morning Record._ Before everything turned to shit. I'm gonna be sitting alone in the cafeteria. I'm going to find shit written on my locker and no one will sit next to me on the team bus and I'll be lucky if I can get through one game as quarterback without having someone 'accidentally' trip me. I don't want it happening all over again. And I want you to help."

She smiled. "Well, you won't be sitting alone in the cafeteria. I can at least help you with that."

"Yeah, you say that now, but I'm sure Cameron will mind."

_Don._ Nancy's heart lurched when she remembered the date she was probably half an hour from missing. "He'll get over it."

Ned chuckled. "I wouldn't be too sure."

"Why?"

"Because if you were my girlfriend, I wouldn't get over it."

Nancy made a face. "Then you're a male chauvinist pig," she told the air, to help her ignore the butterflies that had suddenly filled her stomach.

He laughed even louder. "Good thing I'm not your boyfriend, then."

"You've got that right, mister." Nancy pulled back, snuggling deeper into his coat. "Now take me home. I have a date tonight."

He stood and offered her his arm, which she pointedly ignored. "Bet he doesn't have one of those."

Nancy glanced at the Ferrari. "He doesn't. But you can't have it both ways. You can't hate that car in one breath and brag about it the next."

Ned shrugged, unlocking her door for her. "It's a great car," he said. "I can't deny that."

They were halfway back to her house before they spoke again, once the tentatively companionable silence had begun to fade. "So how are we going to explain my being around you? I mean, how far do you want me to go with this?"

Ned shot a glance at her. "I thought we'd say we're partners on a term science project."

"History would probably be better. Otherwise we'll have to come up with a papier mache volcano or something."

"See? You're already being smart."

Nancy caught herself before she playfully smacked his arm. "And you really think that he keeps evidence in the house."

He glanced at her again, more sharply this time. "There won't be any evidence."

"It's really hard to prove a negative, Ned. I mean, what do you want me to do? Get someone to go over his financial records?"

"Can you do that?"

Nancy sighed and shrugged out of his coat. "Maybe if you got back to me in five years," she said, exasperated, and Ned's face softened into a smile.

"I'm sorry. It's hard... to be an outcast."

"It must be. To have that and lose it."

Nancy motioned for the next turn and Ned took it. "There's no way you know how it feels," he said, and she caught his expression in the fleeting glare of a streetlight.

"I've never had it to lose."

"Bullshit."

That sudden sharp awareness of him prickled over her skin again. "Those girls you see around me? Aren't with me, really. I've known Bess and George since we were in preschool and they are my best friends, but I'm not homecoming queen, not head cheerleader. I'm just the girl who solves problems." She looked out the window.

"Just give it time."

Nancy turned to look at him, her blood so high her mouth was shaking a little. She couldn't deny it; part of her wanted what he'd always seen as his birthright, due him for his looks and charm and easy grace, part of her wanted the elaborate expensive dresses her father would never begrudge her and the admiration glowing in the eyes of her classmates, the bouquet, the ribbons, the crown. And part of her wanted anything but the spotlight, anything that would keep her from her mysteries.

Maybe because the glow after she solved a case was better than a hundred crowns or a thousand admiring glances, for that distilled awe and gratitude. Nothing had ever touched that.

Nancy unclenched her fist and let it go.

Ned brought the car to a slow stop in front of her house, his eyes wide as he took it all in. "Wow. You have a really nice house."

"Thanks." She bent over for her bag and was just opening her mouth to thank him for the ride when he slid out of the car, and she was suddenly panicked that Don was waiting for her, that he'd see, that Ned getting out of the car to open her door for her was some sort of unforgivable trespass, when obviously it wasn't.

She raised an eyebrow at him as he stood there, and he shrugged. "Habit. It just feels like the kind of car for that, doesn't it?"

She chuckled and let him take her hand to help her out of the car. "Walk me to the door?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him outlandishly. "It's a dark night."

"Dark as an old train station," he said wryly, and she didn't tuck her arm through his, and their hands didn't touch, all the way up the walk, to the golden glow of the front porch.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and slowed his steps, and she turned to look at him. "Look, thanks... for this. For doing this for me."

Nancy smiled and nodded a little, suddenly shy. "So... I'll see you in the cafeteria tomorrow."

He dipped his head. "That sounds good. And we can talk some more then."

Nancy turned toward the door, then turned back. "And... George, she means well."

Ned chuckled. "I'll try to remember that."

"Good night, Ned."

"Good night."

When Nancy walked in, she kept her steps slow and small, resisting the urge to watch the fading glow of the Ferrari's taillights out into the distance. The look on Hannah's face was nakedly curious as she looked around the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Don's called three times. Bess has called four. And she sounded hyper. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Nancy said slowly, lightly. "I... have a new case."

"Something about the movies?"

Nancy shrugged and the duffel dropped from her shoulder, onto the floor, and she barely felt it. "Not tonight," she said, and started for the steps in a daze.

"Nan? Are you all right?"

She gave Hannah a faint half-smile. "Yeah," she said, a little louder. "Yeah. I'm great."

When she shut the door of her room she could still smell the faint trace of his cologne, still clinging to her skin from the contact with his coat.

She closed her eyes and breathed it in.


End file.
